Expectations
by Dee Minor
Summary: Hoping to follow a string of legendary female knights, Ayami of Queenscove begins to train for her shield. But as Tortall is plunged into tragedy, she must learn to overcome her weaknesses and set aside old enmities, or the entire kingdom may pay the price.
1. Training Begins

**(A.N. Well, I've wanted to write this for ages now and here it finally is; the story of Neal's daughter throughout her training and knighthood. I've tried to write in Pierce's style, though I'm not sure how successful I've been - review are much appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.)**

**Training Begins**

Ayami of Queenscove glared at her horse who, for her part, was intent on not moving. The most stubborn creature on four legs, Merrylegs – a beautiful dappled grey mare – had found a way to torment her mistress which went far beyond mere mean spiritedness.

The horse sat.

Any of the other pages would have blushed as the giggling started around her, but she'd inherited her mother's Yamani-stoicness and her father's easy sense of humour; instead she wished a thousand deaths on her mare behind a serene mask.

"A knight's main tool is her horse, Page Ayami," Lord Gilmyn, the training master, informed her gruffly. "If you are unable to control your mount by the week's end, you may report for daily training sessions after the last bell."

"My Lord," she bowed stiffly, biting back her retort. In just over a month, she was finally beginning to learn that saying what was on her mind was not always a good idea. Envisioning her sharp-tongued father, she had to wonder how the caustic man ever got through his training – though she doubted he had a beast like Lord Gilmyn to deal with. He'd been particularly personable that day, assigning her punishment work after she'd sworn at Liam of Nond when he'd sent her flying in wrestling that morning. It wasn't her fault that wrestling was her worst area, she'd wanted to argue, but she knew the response would be more punishment work.

"Your mount suits you," a pleasant, accented voice informed her. "She has your personality through and through – you two should have enough in common to get along just fine."

Aya grinned slyly at her sponsor. Sofiya Ahn Ajah was a beautiful girl of 13. Half a foot taller than Aya, the older girl was an excellent horse-woman, and wielded her battle axe from horse back with a deadly grace Aya could only hope to some day match.

"We're so stubborn together, the world has to stop for us," she informed her friend. "But you like me, so you'd like the mare – if we're so alike. As a favour to you, because you're so good to me, I offer you the opportunity to trade mounts with me."

Two slim eyebrows raised in amusement.

"You are most generous, Page Aya," the older girl told her, "but I fear Clove's temperament is such that I could not, in conscience, let a young page – such as yourself – ride him. You could be badly injured."

Clove stared dreamily at the seated Merrylegs and her impatient rider, patient face unblinking. Aya tried to scowl at Sofiya's teasing – Clove was easily the most placid mount she'd ever encountered – but was too busy grinning.

"Get your mount back to the stables, Queenscove," Sergeant Alonus, the broad shouldered Kyprian in charge of the page's staff work, advised her grinning, "it'll take twice as long for you than the rest of us. Were I you, I'd see the Wildmage about it."

"Thank you," she bowed, smiling. Unlike the dry, aloof Lord Gilmyn, Alonus was friendly and jovial. He kept his iron-grey hair clipped close and his dark, twinkling eyes and physical fitness gave him the appearance of a much younger man.

Sighing, she turned to urge her mount to her feet, waving a lump of sugar in a desperate attempt at bribery. It had been all too tempting to take the blasted mare. With a grey coat which shone almost white when properly groomed, silver-grey stockings and a lively look about her, she was one of the prettiest mounts in the stables and a small, female part of her had gasped for joy upon seeing her. Half leading, half dragging the mare to the stables, she was aware of a cold gaze on her and turned to regard Josaline of Marti's Hill smirking at her. Her eyes narrowed. Apparently, Josaline had already forgotten how Aya had managed to dump her in the dust in the morning's staff training – she'd teach her in time.

"Maybe you could let the mare ride you," the other girl remarked scornfully, "you're no rider, maybe it would be faster?" Cool rage set over her, though she hid it with Yamani-smoothness.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't pass very well," she admitted. "How about you? At least you look the part."

The best thing was that it was true. Josaline was short, stocky girl with blonde hair and eyebrows and lashes so pale they looked transparent. Watery blue eyes glared at her over an unpleasant, pointed face.

"You can worry about looks all you like, Queenscove," she retorted flatly, "and maybe the Chamber of Ordeal will be so impressed with your grooming it could let you become a knight. It's the only way I can think of."

She was about to make a reply about Josaline's abysmal staff work when both girls spotted Lord Gilmyn making his way back towards them. Sighing, she let Josaline move away and continued to urge Merrylegs back to the stables.

* * *

One advantage of getting her mount back to the stables early was that she was able to indulge in her bath. While she had quickly learned to curse the trek to the castle and subsequent scramble to get to lunch, it was heaven to be able to soak after taking a battering in training. Lora had taken the opportunity to pour scented oils into the water and she was awash in her favourite smells; sandalwood, jasmine and cherry – the smell of the Yamani Isles. While she'd never visited the Islands, she adored sneaking into her mother's study, or visiting her Aunt Kel, and admiring their Yamani Art and ornaments. While she'd inherited her father's frank, inquisitive nature, her heart was for the quiet tranquillity of the islands she still longed to see.

Sighing, she stood and allowed Lora to pat her dry. While she hadn't wanted to take on a maid, Aunt Kel had insisted it would make her life easier – today she was proven right. Lora was a beautiful girl of 17 with thick blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a fierce sense of humour.

"Will that be all, Lady Ayami?" She asked wryly, knowing how Aya hated to be addressed.

"It's _Page_ Ayami," she corrected out of habit. "I'll let you know when I become _Lady_, I swear."

"A true lady would answer her poor maid's question." Lora began to towel her hair dry. "Would you like anything else, my lady? Oils for your hair, perhaps, or rogue? Your knight father agrees that you could be quite becoming."

"You make your point," she grumbled, pulling away to grab her clothes. "I need to get to lunch – when I get back this evening we'll braid each other's hair and gossip and you can tell me all about your new job."

Lora grinned, knowing her mistress was joking.

"It's always a pleasure to serve, my lady." The servant's joking voice followed her out of the room as she jogged to lunch. Fortune was with her as she was among the first to arrive and she made her way over to join Sofiya, who was deep in discussion with Edmond of Goldenlake about the advantages of using a glaive rather than a spear or a lance.

"It's perfect for the smaller combatant to gain the upper hand," she argued calmly as Aya sighed deeply. Just once, couldn't they get into a healthy debate on the relevance of the Code of Chivalry? Or perhaps a heated discussion on whether any ethical code could be truly absolute? It was the sort of thing she adored discussing with her father, who would invariably pull a relevant book from his shelf and the two would be absorbed in philosophy for decades to come.

She'd been in training for less than a week when she'd landed herself punishment work for pointing out to Lord Gilmyn that she couldn't work on her archery as, according to Enox's Paradox1, movement was theoretically impossible. Honestly, while she understood the importance of a knight's ability to whack at things with sticks, she frequently worried about the lack of pressure on her friends to learn how to use their brains.

"But it's so difficult to manoeuvre," Edmond retorted, "you'd be as like to hit one of your own men as an enemy."

"Lady Keladry fights with a glaive," Sofiya argued, "she went to war in Scanra with one. _And_ the Yamani ladies use them – many noblewomen learn the art now as an elegant way to preserve their honour."

"Lady Keladry practised for years," he protested, "and the ladies use the glaive against a single attacker, not during wars."

"What do you think, Aya?" Liam of Nond interrupted, clearly as impatient with the conversation as Aya herself. She shrugged in response.

"Glaives are an excellent pole-arm if you're well practised. If you haven't trained for years with one, it'd be a mistake to take it into battle. As the poet Oshwa wrote-"

"All right, all right." Edmond glared at her, though he was still smiling. One of the tallest squires in training, it was doubtful as to whether Edmond ever thought about anything other than weapons training and strategies. "We get the point, Queenscove."

Shrugging daintily, she folded her hands in her lap and waited for Lord Gilmyn to arrive.

* * *

"So, page Ayami," His Grace, Sir Nealan of Queenscove, grinned at his oldest daughter as she limped indoors. Unable to find Daine, she'd spent an evening attempting to coerce Merrylegs into voluntary movement. The mare had eventually tired and thrown her rider, showing more amused disdain than a horse ought to be capable of. "I see you've been getting into trouble. Off fighting the Marti's Hill girl, were you?"

Yamani-dignity forgotten, she scowled at her father. A handsome man of 36, Aya had inherited little of her father's appearance. While her eyes were so dark a brown as to be almost black, his were a wide, emerald green. Her hair was black to his brown, her face narrow, his broad. Even their gifts had little in common; while the emerald fire of his magic was used for precise healing-magic, Aya's gift was pure white and her greatest skill was in foresight, which gave her headaches, glamours, which gave her nosebleeds and scrying, which made her dizzy. Still, while a stranger may not be able to tell the two were even related, those who knew them well knew better. The stubbornness, the sharp intelligence, the cutting sense of humour... Aya was her father's daughter and made sure people knew it.

"It was that thrice-bedamned horse of mine," she told him grumpily. "She sits still throughout the entire morning ride and then decides to give me flying-lessons."

Neal smiled sympathetically, holding out a hand of green fire to heal a cut on his child's face.

"You should've seen your Aunt Kel's horse, when she was a page," he grinned fondly. "Peachblossom, his name was. Nasty bruiser – though she wouldn't hear a word against him."

Aya smiled. When last she'd visited Kel, the older woman had managed to adopt an injured owl, which she painstakingly cared for even as it attempted to spear her with its talons. She wasn't sure whether to believe Lord Raoul that, as a squire, she'd been landed with the care of a baby griffin. Taking in the unloved creatures of the world was a full time occupation for the Protector of the Small.

"What did she do with him?" She wanted to know. "Did she choose another mount?"

Looking up from the healing he was performing on her ankle, her father frowned.

"Kel? She stuck with the beast for the next 12 years," he snorted ungallantly. At Aya's frown of disappointment, he smiled wryly. "Kel's unorthodox, Aya," he explained slowly. "No one would expect you to do the same with a troublesome mount."

_No one would expect it, but they'd be disappointed if I didn't, _she interpreted with an inward sigh.

"I know, father," she assured him with a Yamani-smile. "But I should give the nag another try, shouldn't I?"

"It's up to you," he responded. "I have no illusions – you'll never listen to a withered old man like your father! I tell you page training is a mad idea – I say, 'Aya, you'll be happier training as a mage. No broken bones, no feuds with fellow pages, no worries about cursed horses-'"

"And grandfather Baird told you much the same thing." Aya hid a smile at the sputtered outrage on her father's face. "Maybe I inherited something?"

As her father chased her from his rooms, she shook with laughter, but a bleak thought worked its way to the forefront of her mind. She could, she knew, slack off on her horsemanship or hand-to-hand combat. With her staff work as good as it was, she was shaping up to be a promising swordsman, her archery was superb and she was miles ahead of her peers in most of her academic subjects – she could make a decent page, squire and knight and simply ignore her weaker skill areas, if she knew people wouldn't read into it.

In the 3 decades since it was announced that girls could try for their shields, the Lady Knights of Tortall had developed an excellent reputation. While there were only 20 or so on current duty, each lady knight had been a credit to her training. It was because any girl going to train as a knight had to work twice as a hard as the boys, Kel had explained. While a boy might try for his shield at the request of his family, a girl would have to be certain of her path (and pretty good at it, too) before walking down it. It was simply a bigger decision to make for girls, and in order to prove that they were equal to the boys, they first had to be better than them.

As a result, everyone looked to the female pages. The conservatives wanted a failure to prove how women shouldn't be warriors after all while the progressives were looking for their next protégée. Under such scrutinisation, one girl represented every girl. If a boy was a poor swordsman, then that trait was purely his; if a girl was weak, then all girls were weak. If one girl page let her horse be consigned to a life of pulling carts or be killed for dog-meat because she couldn't control the beast, then girls were weak-willed, timid and careless. The double standard made her head hurt.

Thinking of the mount she'd no doubt continue to ride and the wrestling she would continue to master, Aya longed for the privacy the Lioness had been granted during her training, or the strength of her Aunt Kel.

1 Based on Zeno's Paradox. In order to get from Point A to Point B, we must first get halfway there (Point M). To get from Point A to Point M we must get halfway there, (Point N). To get from Point A to Point N we must first get... well, you get the idea. In order to get anywhere, we must therefore cross an infinite number of points, which logic dictates is impossible. Hence the paradox. It should be noted that this paradox can be fairly easily discredited by, well, moving. As interesting a conundrum as this poses, it ought to be advised that using Zeno's paradox to escape P.E. class is a categorically poor idea, no matter how pricelessly stunned your teacher's face becomes.


	2. Challenges

**Challenges**

The third week of November saw rain begin to pour in an almost solid downpour, steaming as it hit the still-warm earth. Mist descended swiftly, engulfing the world around the palace with a near-impenetrable fog. The week marked a pointed decline in Aya's temperament; riding practise was cancelled, cutting short her slow but steady progress in getting Merrylegs to carry her, her unarmed combat skills seemed to be getting even worse, if that were possible, with Edmond of Goldenlake nearly dislocating her shoulder in training one morning. With the best of intentions, she'd sought out her Aunt Kel weeks ago for tips on hand-to-hand combat. The older woman, who would be staying in the palace until January, to Aya's delight, was happy to show her some exercises to strengthen her arms, as well as some Yamani throws and punches.

If it occurred to Aya that she would do well to practice these skills every day, or that she could improve her relationship with her mount if she visited the stables frequently even if it was too wet to ride, she didn't act upon them. Instead, she focussed on her academic studies, though even these were marred by the living hell which was magic class.

"Today, we begin to study fire in its most advanced forms," Master Numair announced one afternoon as Aya nursed a severely painful shoulder. "One of the most basic spells a mage can command, it's entirely likely that fire will be the spell you will use most as knights."

Aya forced her expression to lie smooth as she could have wept. She _could_ produce fire, but it took her far longer than the other students, and the result was often more smoke than flame. Honestly, she could build a fire the normal way in half the time, but she had to learn this. Magic wasn't like combat exercise either, she wanted to point out, you can improve on skills you had, but attempting to aquire new powers was an invitation to be eaten alive by out of control magic. Fire was a skill she did not possess – the spell in its most basic form made her extremely nauseous. She had other powers to make up for this one – her scrying was coming along nicely, for all that it gave her headaches, and she was the best of the first years at illusions, but trying something so _real_ as fire was a recipe for disaster.

Making matters worse, Aya was paired with Josaline for trying the exercise. At their joint table, the two girls avoided eye contact with each other, though Aya was sure that when her sleeve caught fire, the taller girl had done it deliberately. Aya swallowed her rage as she doused her sleeve – she severely wished that Josaline could just _tell her _why she disliked her so much. At first, she'd supposed it was because she wanted to be the only female paage in training, but her behaviour around Sofiya – respectful and almost awe-struck – suggested otherwise. Ordinarily, the fact that the obstinately tomboyish Josaline's gift was a pale, petal pink amused her; today, even that sight did not make her smile. Instead, attempting the spell Master Numair had show them, she fainted dead away.

Opening her eyes, she was shocked at how bright the room was, until she realised the pounding behind her eyes would soon become a migraine. The sound of snickering echoed around her skull, though this was the last of her worries. Groaning, she forced herself to sit as Numair rested a cool hand on her forehead.

"Clearly we're fighting a losing battle here, Page Ayami," he remarked wryly, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Can you stand?"

She did so, massaging her temples as she shakily rose.

"I'll be okay," she assured him, "but I'm not trying that spell again."

"No, that wouldn't be advisable," he agreed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Josaline scowl. What was it now? She knew the other girl thought she was wasting her time training as a knight, but surely she didn't resent the fact that Aya's power was different to her own? Deciding that she didn't care – introducing Josaline of Marti's Hill to logic would only produce a bigger headache – she tuned into what Numair was saying.

"Um, sorry?" She grinned, embarrassed, "my mind had wandered."

A smile tugged at Numair's mouth.

"I said, perhaps it would be better if we found something else for you to occupy yourself with while the other students study more... physical magic. Scrying perhaps?"

"Okay," she agreed. "But, could that wait until tomorrow? I think I need to lie down."

He sent her away with a smile, instructing Liam of Nond to explain her absence in the rest of their lessons. Even Numair, it seemed, realised that it would be a bad idea to entrust this task to Josaline.

* * *

Sipping he herbal tea Lora had made – a magical blend from her mother to reduce headaches that tasted terrible but worked excellently – she frowned at the thought of the other girl. Her first sight of her had been neutral enough – the pages had assembled before Lord Gilmyn and Josaline looked every bit as excited and nervous as the rest of them, even offering Aya a shy smile – but later that day at supper, she hadn't said a word to her. Days turned into weeks as it became increasingly obvious that the other girl couldn't stand her. As she couldn't pinpoint anything she'd done wrong, she decided to simply return Josaline's dislike, though she hated making enemies. It was so irrational, but the enmity remained.

Sighing, she drained the tea. Supper would have ended, she realised dully. She could probably go the kitchens and take supper there, but...

Inspiration struck. She'd felt so cooped up of late, being confined to the palace. Before becoming a page, she'd gone to the city almost every day with her father, visiting healers, rogues and watchmen alike. A sudden urge to be out of the palace with its pointless lessons, and stupid rivalries and constant headaches flared within her, and she found herself pulling on soft kid boots and woollen hose and tunic and strapping several knives about her person. All it took was a mild glamour, not enough to make her fully invisible, as she didn't want to risk a nosebleed, but to make herself utterly unremarkable to anyone who saw her, she slipped from her room and trotted out of the palace. Lora would cover for her, she knew, and it wasn't far to Corus. She decided she'd prefer the food of the Lower City to that of the palace.

Ducking under an awning, she nursed a hot apple turnover, courtesy of Old Mags, the finest pastry chef in the Lower City. Thinking herself quite alone, she nearly choked on her meal when hand lay on her shoulder.

"Drop the spell," a deceptively friendly voice suggested, "and I won't get upset. It makes a man suspicious, seeing people go cloaked in a place like this."

The grip on her shoulder was strong and she could feel heat at the top of her head, suggesting the man was taller than she was. Dropping her glamour, she half-turned to regard her attacker and almost laughed.

"Finnian?"

The youth, a tall sixteen year old with dark blonde hair and sea-green eyes framed in long, almost feminine lashes, blinked down at her in shock.

"Aya?" He laughed, surprised. "I thought you were training as a page."

Grinning up at him – the recently-made watchmen had made friends with her father some months earlier when the healer had travelled to the lower city to help those injured by a rampaging coldfang. Aya had met him several days later when she accompanied her father to Corus.

"I may be away without leave," she admitted, turning slightly pink. "How did you know me? I didn't think you were gifted."

Wordless, he held up a charm.

"It tells me of all but the most subtle spells," he told her. "I got a bonus last month for bringing down Hilam Rosford and his woman, and I spent it on this. It's paid for itself ten times over. Sorry for the threats, by the way," he added, "but this is a nice area and people going cloaked is usually bad news."

"You aren't on duty," she pointed out, noting his plain clothes. He shrugged.

"It still wouldn't do to have a robbery take place in front of me," he replied. "Come on, page, I'll take you for a decent meal."

"Tell me about Rosford," she requested, knowing she'd end up on paying for the meal herself. She didn't begrudge Finn at all – she was a noble and watchmen didn't earn much money. "I didn't know you were the one to bring him in."

Hilam Rosford had plagued the lower city for almost two years. He would target watchmen, crippling or killing them in their attacks. Their arrest should have been simple, but a worrying number of Lower City folk showed support to the couple. It was only in noting a pattern of where and when his strikes hit that Finn had tracked the murderer down to the house of a money lender – Mistress Dilanna Grail – who had turned out to be Rosford's secret lover. An inspection of her home revealed her to be a forger and both could expect a trip to Executioner's Hill. Listening to the details of the arrest, Aya felt a pang of envy mixed with admiration. She knew that Finn had a harder life than she, earning a pittance for a thankless job, but it must be worth it, to have a job that required so much thinking.

"So how's palace life?" He asked as they entered an inn – The Roving Hound. "Any reason why a proper, obedient noblewoman would sneak out to consort with the likes of me?"

She grinned.

"That was hardly optional," she pointed out with a sniff. "Some brutish watchman grabbed me like I was a common thief."

"Only tell me his name and I'll duel him for your honour," Finn replied, eyes twinkling.

She giggled and turned to order two bowls of stew. The hot meal would be a blessing on such a drizzly evening.

"A knight does her own duelling," was the response. "Anyway, I just felt so... cooped up at the palace. I don't know how the other pages don't go stir-crazy."

"I thought you were given plenty to do."

"Plenty of sitting about learning things I already know or falling off horses," she retorted. "I'll do my best, of course, but that doesn't mean I can't stretch my legs every now and again. Anyway, you'll already know all the palace gossip – tell me about the Lower City."

Grinning – it was rare for so young a noble to care about commoners – Finn told her about the new Rogue, the recent influx of immortals looking to live in the capital and the disappearance of an old book-keeper Aya had gotten know well over the years. It was only when she began to stifle yawns that Finn urged her back to the castle.

"Do they go so easy on pages these days that you can afford to go without sleep?" he inquired gently.

Scowling playfully, she bade him goodnight and replaced her glamour.

* * *

The rest of the week's training, she felt like hammers were constantly pounding her entire body.

While she was spared the future migraines of attempting to wield power she did not possess, what she did possess was equally ruthless. She'd been scrying in mirrors and water since she was old enough to focus on such activities, but the further she tried to see, the more she saw. Images, sounds, colours, even smells whirled past her mind as she stared outside of the open window in Numair's next class. What she was trying to focus on, the inn that she and Finn had eaten at the previous night, was there, at the edge of her vision, but she also saw everything in the space between her and the inn. The building itself was an odd blur. When she tried honing in on it, she noticed that there were several inns, all on top of one another. In one, a barmaid wiped a table down, in another, a dog shook itself dry in the exact same spot, in one, she and Finn laughed over some joke. Giddily, she realised that she was seeing the inn at many points in time – past, present and future. Breaking the vision, she rubbed her temples. At least the headache distracted her from the growing bruise she'd collected on her abdomen that day in staff practice.

"Try Balor's Needle," Numair suggested when she told him of her problem. "It could be that the magical residue of the palace is obscuring your vision. You have my permission to climb the needle" - ordinarily, pages weren't allowed up the structure - "in your spare time. For now, just try to get used to the magical pollution here."

Aya nodded, wanting to cry. Nobody else she knew had these problems – the Gift was supposed to be the Gift, why did hers have to be awkward?

Her other lessons were proving just as tiring. Being taught philosophy by Master Daneel, who went without a single philosophical thought in his shrivelled little head, was agonising. Learning the lessons in mathematics and history her parents had taught her years ago made her want to weep. Worst of all was deportment, where Master Oakbridge, the ancient, long-winded master of ceremonies, sniffed every time she, Sofiya or Josaline – the three female pages – said so much as a word. It wasn't that he doubted women's abilities in being warriors, Aunt Kel told her when she mentioned her woes to the older woman, but trying to make the proper arrangements for the inclusion of a female page, squire or knight at ceremonies was a logistical nightmare. Still, she thought as she struggled to keep from sleep, he might at least try to hide the fact that he wishes we were elsewhere.

Physical lessons were becoming a sort of waking torture. While her performance in archery and staff-work remained good, she was showing little improvement. Thinking of her Aunt Kel, she wondered if the other woman had been as slow as a page. Dimly, she knew that her performance would improve with practise, but the idea of doing even more than her lessons demanded made her exhausted. It was just so much easier to sleep at the end of the day, or visit the Lower City, or read. Weeks passed and she stopped what little she did to strengthen her arms and she still hadn't climbed Balor's Needle.

Finally, she was given something of a reprieve when Lord Gilmyn called her into his study one evening.

"Sit down, Ayami," he invited, pointing to a cushioned seat. She smiled to herself in relief – when his manservant, Justan, had found her, she'd worried that he'd found out abouther late night excursions to the lower city – but he wouldn't ask her to sit if he meant to punish her.

"You've done well these past few months," he told her, offering a rare compliment. "I've reported to your father – he's also pleased with your progress."

Blushing slightly – her progress, she knew, was far slower than it could have been – she bowed from where she sat.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, thinking she didn't deserve his praise.

"You may take an afternoon in the city on Monday," he offered. "I understand you know the city well?"

She nodded, feeling more wretched by the second. She knew the city far better than she ought to, given her frequent late-night wanderings, though there was no need for him to know that.

"Then you won't need an older page to show you around," he concluded. "That will be all."

Bowing, she waited until she'd left the room to hang her head in shame. Here she'd been complimented by her training master when she deserved punishment and reprimands. She had to improve, she knew. Laziness and rule-breaking wouldn't help her earn her shield. Lying on her bed, she picked up a book with a sigh. She'd try harder, she promised herself, but it was too late to do anything about it now.


	3. Josaline

**Josaline**

Aya groaned as she rolled to her feet early one December morning. In the autumn air, grey earth knitted together until it was strong as steel, while what had been loose dirt in the summer had turned to cold, sliding mud. The sun hadn't even thought about rising when she began her dawn exercises. Kel had given her tips for building up her arm and shoulder muscles, but since her resolve to master herself, she'd only performed them once and spent the rest of the day aching. Instead, under the amused eye of Lora, she practised a simple combat pattern dance, enough to wake her up and get her blood flowing. Satisfied that she'd used her morning well, she went to breakfast.

As ever, Sofiya and Edmond were deep in argument by the time Aya sat down. Helping herself to scrambled eggs, she rolled her eyes as the two fought over the best way to defend on foot against a rider. Invariably, they'd call on her to mediate and she'd have to think of some humorous none-answer and evade the question.

"Of course, using pikes would just be unoriginal," she drawled as the argument began to dwindle. Both parties turned to stare at her as she happily buttered a roll. "Personally, I think if you're just going to make things difficult for yourself, you might as well go all the way and fight the cavalry with a bootlace and a bag of flour, but that's just me."

Leon of Nicoline – a dark, second-year page whose archery put everyone else's to shame – laughed. Feeling rather pleased with herself, Aya wasn't expecting the cold voice to cut across her good mood.

"I'm sure the pikes would do you a world of good if you were caught off-guard," Josaline of Marti's Hill sat by her Edmond – her sponsor – with a scowl. Aya fought the urge to dump her juice over the sallow girl's head. "Unless you're to be one of those strange knights who doesn't carry several 14-foot long spears wherever you go."

"Well, I wish I had something sharp now, if that's the same thing." Aya smiled sweetly. "And we're dealing in hypotheticals – the best defence against a rider if you're on foot are pikes."

Before she could reply, Sofiya and Edmond hurriedly began a discussion about the new weights the third-year pages had been made to don. As the conversation progressed, Aya could still feel Josaline's glare.

A few months ago she might have sighed inwardly or dwelling on what caused the other girl's solid dislike of her, but she was beginning to lose interest. If Josaline of Marti's Hill possessed a single logical bone in her body, she hid it well. Instead of brooding over the hostile page, she instead let her thoughts wander to the waking torture before her. A simple pattern dance every morning and the occasional push-up had done astonishingly little to improve her hand-to-hand combat.

She disliked many of her instructors, but there was only one she despised; the lithe, wiry former-acrobat, Darus Esined was responsible for teaching them unarmed combat. The little man was impossible fast and strong and she knew she could learn much from him, but the idea of anybody not instinctively knowing how to deliver a punch, kick or block was alien to him. He also had little patience for speaking with the pages and avoided eye-contact with them. When he did speak, his opinions were so painfully frank that he made Ayami's father look a diplomat. Worse still, he avoided those pages whose performance was lacking, not out of spite or impatience, she supposed, but because he honestly wasn't a good teacher and talking to the untalented made him profoundly uncomfortable.

"Pages, line up," the man ordered when they had assembled in the practice yards for the first bell of the morning. "Queenscove, Irenroha, you two had best go together."

She wanted to scream at the other man. Joshua of Irenroha was a stocky second year page whose arm had been broken in two places when he'd fallen from his horse days earlier.

_The only page I can fight against, _she thought gloomily, _Darus must be delighted – for now he doesn't have to worry about what to do with me._

Walking over to face the second year, she heard a deceptively sweet voice in her ear.

"Don't worry, Queenscove," Josaline told her, eyes glinting, "I'm sure all the enemies you face as a knight will have broken limbs."

She couldn't even think of a retort as her hands shook in anger. For the first time, she could have hit the other girl.

"Don't push it, Mart's Hill," she snapped lowly, "you're getting too big for your breeches."

"And if you ever shock the world and show yourself to be worthy as a page, I'll be intimidated," was the icy response. "Now, I believe you have a cripple to be beaten up by?"

She was so angry during training, fury at Josaline and exhaustion at her work breaking her Yamani-calm entirely, she made twice as many mistakes as normal. Once, when it was her turn to attack, she forgot Joshua's injuries and accidentally hit his wounded arm. The boy turned pale with pain as she cried out an apology.

"Oh, Josh, I'm so sorry," she cried, distressed, "I was just... elsewhere..."

"Take him to the infirmary, Queenscove, if you're not too distracted to remember where it is," there was no malice in Darus's voice – in fairness, she wasn't sure the combat teacher was capable of such an emotion – but he sounded weary, "ask your father if he can do anything more for the pain. I hope you didn't inherit your focus from him. Then you can come back and we'll see if there's anyone else for you to injure."

Forcing her face to go as stone, she helped Joshua from the yard, trying to ignore the smirk on Josie's face.

* * *

Staff and archery practise were always the bright spots of her day, which was why she deflated slightly upon discovering the pages were to put aside staff work to train with swords. Their weapons were wooden practise blades, to be replaced with dull metal by the end of the month, and soon she forgot her reservations. She quickly found she enjoyed sword-play almost as much as she had the staff. While she wasn't very strong, she was quicker than the other first years, with much faster reactions and the sword felt natural in her hand. Her opponent, Josaline of Marti's Hill, was not having nearly as much success.

Aya took the opportunity to study the other girl. She was obviously trying hard; every muscle in her body was tense and alert in a way which guaranteed she would not hold her sword naturally. Twice, her stance was so tense that when Aya struck her somewhat harder than what was needed, the other girl dropped her sword. Each time, Aya smiled mockingly and asked if she needed them to go slower. The sour expression on the other girl's pale, watery face served to restore some pride lost in hand-to-hand combat that morning. As they left the courts to fetch their mounts, Josie 'accidentally' bumped into her, knocking her over. Quietly, she planned revenge.

* * *

Things didn't come to a head until three days later. After supper, Aya would often climb Balor's Needle – an immensely tall structure which allowed mages to scry clear of the magical residues of the palace – but tonight she had another task to accomplish.

Merrylegs's stubborness was becoming harmful. More often than not, the mount would refuse to obey even basic commands, leading to Aya having to drag on her rein. As a result, the horse's mouth had hardened considerably. Stubborn pride meant Aya refused to trade the mount, but when Tobe, the chief hostler, had last healed the horse's mouth, he'd told Aya that the relationship could not continue long. If she couldn't control the mount, she'd have to find a new one.

Armed with a bag sugar lumps, she entered the stable. There her horse stood, beautiful eyes peaceful as she fed from a trough.

"I have to talk to you," she informed her mount sternly, making sure her sugar was out of sight. The horse blew at her, turning her head slightly.

"No," Aya's voice was firm. It might have been strange elsewhere, to talk to an animal as if they understood, but here she knew the animal were different. It was Daine, the Wildmage's influence. Her very presence made animals more intelligent in the human sense, and Merrylegs was no different. "Listen to me, this is important. If the palace hostlers think you're no good for knight's work, they'll send you to pull ploughs for the rest of your life. You won't enjoy that." The look Merrylegs fixed her was clear; she did not enjoy knight's work either. Aya sighed, knowing what this had come to. She held out a sugar lump. "I don't want to drag on the reigns," she said as the horse ate the treat. "If you behave, I won't. Your mouth will thank me. I won't use the spur – not the sharp kind, anyway. And you'll have sugar. Twice a week."

The horse blew and stamped the ground, impatient. Aya rolled her eyes.

"Alright, three times a week," she conceded. "But no more or you'll get fat."

_This is what it comes to, _she thought mournfully as Merrylegs considered. _Haggling with a horse._

Most knights only gave their mounts sugar on special occasions, or when the horse had done something brave. Like humans, a horse couldn't thrive on sweets, but she hoped Tobe would ensure the horse's teeth were well looked after. If their system worked, Merrylegs would have enough exercise to keep healthy.

After some time, the horse thrust her head forwards slightly, indicating that she wanted more sugar. Relieved, Aya obliged giving her five more lumps before making her way out of the stable. It got dark early so she wouldn't be able to ride Merrylegs until morning, but she had a feeling she'd succeeded. Many of the Queen's Riders she'd met over the years had spoken of their experience with clever horses.

"I'm forever waiting for the day that the palace mounts only work for us if they want to," one had told her with a grin, "they'll be demanding wages next."

Walking from the stables, Aya realised that day had come and almost laughed. Her amusement was distilled when she saw the figure heading towards her.

Of _course _it was Josaline. The other girl had been like gristle caught between her teeth these past few days. Turning up where she wasn't wanted and always with an unpleasant word or three to say, she was becoming the bane of Aya's existence. Seeing where Aya had been, she sneered.

"Don't tell me you have to beg your horse to work for you now," was the biting suggestion.

Aya made no comment on how accurate she was, but instead felt hatred bubble within her. Nobody else could made her this angry! Sofiya mocked her all the time in her pleasant, playful way, and Edmond wasn't slow to laugh when his peers faltered in training. She supposed the difference was that the older pages would also laugh at their own flaws easily; when she had laughed at Josaline's abysmal staff-work in their very first week, the girl had given her a look which could sour milk.

Now she folded her arms.

"What about you?" she asked, keeping her voice pleasant. "Off to remind yourself which end of the sword you're supposed to stick into the other person."

"Right now I'm trying to decide the best place to stick it," Josaline snapped back, eyes flashing. It was the kind of threat she would usually laugh at or applaud – from Josaline, it made her eyes narrow.

"You wouldn't get close," she promised, mouth tight with anger.

"You wouldn't be so confident without weapons. I'm beginning to think you wouldn't even need an opponent to flatten you – you can just fall over your own feet and save your enemies the trouble."

"I don't need any weapons to teach you some manner," Aya promised, fists tight.

She didn't remember who threw the first punch. In all likelihood, they attacked simultaneously. Whoever started it, the result was the same. Josie ended up with a small cut on her mouth; Aya's face became a mess of bruises, cuts and, she suspected, a broken nose.

She thought the shame would kill her.

* * *

An hour later, laying on her bed , she let out a strangled groan as she touched a hand to her face. Her nose, as she'd suspected, was broken, and she was one pounding ache. She knew she could go to her father for a healing, but he'd ask questions and get furious and she wanted to beat Josaline herself – she didn't want her knight-father to intervene. Grimly thankful that she'd given Lora the night off, she sat in contemplation. The palace healers all reported to her father; she couldn't trust any of them.

Inspiration struck like fireworks and, casting a mild glamour to shield the worst of her injuries, she paced quickly to the nobles' rooms.

The Lioness spent little time at the palace. In her sixties she had, for the most part, retired from a knight's service. King Jonathan had chosen another champion ten years earlier and she lived more at her home in Pirate's Swoop than in all her years as champion. Still, every so often it was nice to visit the palace and her old friends and watch the pages, squires and riders in training. Just because she no longer served actively as a knight didn't mean she'd grown sloppy, and she was no slouch with a sword these days. Still, the days took their toll, and on that brisk November evening, she was looking forward to a hot bath and early night.

When a hesitant knock interrupted her relaxation, she was far from thrilled. Yanking open the door, she glared about her until her eyes focussed on a short page.

A full head shorter than Alanna – a rare thing, even for the younger pages – the girl looked up at her with stubborn, dark brown eyes. Faded bruises showed along her cheeks and her face sparkled with white fire.

"Queenscove, is it?" Alanna snapped at the girl. She knew Ayami on sight – Nealan of Queenscove had been her first squire almost twenty years ago and she'd kept in touch with the sarcastic healer.

"Yes my Lady," she responded, voice neutral. "I've a favour to ask, if it's all the same."

Alanna glared.

"It's only 'all the same' if I say so, girl," she informed her stiffly. "What do you want? And why are you hiding your face?"

Aya sighed and let go of her enchantment. The white fire vanished, and in its place more bruises appeared. These weren't the faded remnants of heavy training, but the bloody, obvious testament to a recent fight. The nose was clearly broken, left eyebrow split and the lower lip had just resumed bleeding. Alanna whistled, impressed.

"Should I see the other guy?" she asked dryly. "Or have you just dented the floor from falling down?"

Aya shifted. 'Falling down' was the traditional excuse given by pages who had been fighting – she saw no need to break this tradition.

"Actually, the floor is pretty much unscathed," she admitted, embarrassed. "Though next time I'll try to scratch it, at least."

Alanna grinned, bad mood instantly forgotten. She hadn't forgotten her own page days, when her fights with Ralon of Malven became palace legend.

"So what do you want me for?" she asked, thrusting her hands in pockets. Aya thought the gesture was unladylike, but chose not to comment. "Your da could heal you up in a trice, you know."

"Well, yes," Aya acknowledged, shifting from foot to foot, "but he'd want to know where I fell and ask all sorts of questions. He'd try to fight my battles for me, and I need to do this myself."

Alanna nodded her approval. She liked Nealan – he'd been a good squire, if impertinent, and she admired his dry humour and stubborn determination to do what was right – but he was a drama-queen. Looking at his calm, Yamani daughter, she realised the girl had inherited his stubbornness and acrid sarcasm, but she was stoic to his exaggerated, calm to his dramatic.

"Alright then," she concluded cheerily. "I can fix up the nose good as new, and those eyebrows and the lip. I'll take away the pain in the eye and reduce the swelling, but the marks will stay. You'll have a job explaining them to your training master."

Aya shrugged.

"I'll just cast another glamour," she pointed out. "Master Numair will be able to tell, but he'll just distract himself with some new spell before he can report it."

The Lioness laughed outright at that.

"Well then, youngling," she touched a glowing finger to the split eyebrow, which healed instantly. "I'll see what we can manage. You know, if you need tips on how to dent the ground next time-"

"It's okay," she said softly. "I've a friend in the Lower City. He's good with that sort of thing."

Alanna decided she liked this page and finished her healing in silence. She was friends with many of the palace servants – she decided she'd keep an eye on the aspirant knight.

Feeling decidedly better, Aya wandered back to her rooms cheerfully. The vivid blue and purple of the bruises along her face was disguised by her magic and the pain had gone completely. There was only one thing that could ruin her good mood – and it was pounding on her door when she returned to her room.

Josaline of Marti's Hill – the least welcome sight on this earth as far as Aya was concerned turned from the door in defeat and stopped dead.

"What is it?" Aya asked tiredly. "Don't tell me I've to go for two healings in one night?"

Josaline, to her surprise, turned crimson with shame.

"I came to apologise," the taller girl didn't meet her eyes. "I'd no right to do that."

"We both started it," Aya pointed out, confused. While she may despise Josaline, it would be churlish to blame her completely for the fight.

"Not about getting into a fight," she explained. "But I know your unarmed combat is weak. Mine is strong. What I did was bullying, and that's wrong. It won't happen again."

Swiftly, she turned and swept away to her rooms, blind to the gape Aya fixed at her back.

She'd apologised. Apologised not for being a temperamental, illogical, heavy handed brute, but for the fact that she – Aya – was _weak_. She'd all but said that a fight between the two of them was bullying because Aya wouldn't stand a chance.

What had been embarrassment twisted into something far uglier. She was _furious._ Anger bubbled behind her eyes – anger against Josaline and her superior strength and her... pity? How _dare _she pity her? Aya was one of the strongest pages with a staff or a bow or-

But this wasn't about staff or bow work. It was about a straight fight, and while before Aya had wanted to improve to spare herself future shame, now she had a real purpose. She would show that insufferable wretch that she was _not _to be pitied.

Slipping out of the palace gate in the dark of night, she found her way to Finnian's rooms in the lower city. When next they fought, Josaline wouldn't _dare _pity her.


	4. Lessons

**(This is a little filler-ish. I was going to march straight on with plotty things, but I realised I wasn't giving enough time to characters, so have some scenarios I decided to write out of the blue. I'm developing a real fondness for Josaline as a character and I want to give her more to do. Reviews are hugely appreciated and a happy thanks to everyone who has done so so far.)**

**Lessons**

"Hello youngling," Finn beamed at her one evening when he opened the door. One of her eyebrows quirked and she smiled with interest – Finn was a friendly, good-humoured man, but even so, it was rare to see him in such a good mood.

"Hello," she greeted. "Are you ready to throw me into some more doors?"

In the past month, they'd worked out a system. Finn was happy to show her how to defend herself, but was very dedicated to his work and didn't often spend his evenings idle. Twice a week, she sneaked out of the palace to where he lived in the Lower City where for two hours, he'd show her blocks, throws and sensitive body parts to weaken stronger opponents. ("Which means basically everybody to you, youngling," he'd told her, eyes sparkling.) She'd also worked hard to improve her strength. Whereas before, she would do a simple pattern dance every morning, now she forced herself through the most complex routine she knew and added ten push ups to the routine and did the same in the evening, after a jog to the stables and back. The effort was beginning to show in her weapons training; Lord Gilmyn had given her another free afternoon to spend at the market, which she did with a free conscience.

"I've guests here," he responded, beckoning her in. "We can still go through some things if you don't mind an audience.

"It depends on who's watching, I suppose," she responded, hiding her disappointment. More than missing out on combat training, she enjoyed spending time with Finn, who spoke to her as he would an adult, 'youngling' aside.

Following him upstairs to a spacious living area, she saw an assortment of men and women seated in comfortable chairs or on cushions on the floor. Knowing Finn's resources as she did, she supposed that some of them must have brought their own seats, but made no comment. She instantly ruled out practice – she could stand one or two watchers, but there were six – two women and four men – gathered in the room.

"This is Ayami," Finn introduced his young friend to the group. If she was uncomfortable, she hid it behind hr polite Yamani-face. "Aya, this is Calden, Jem, Corine, Mia, Ross and Eli."

The names passed her in a blur, but two stood out. The first, Calden, was an extraordinarily handsome man in his late teens. Jet black hair fell messily in front of his hazel eyes, which were set with long lashes in a beautifully delicate face. The second, Corine, looked as tough as the man was pretty. She might have been beautiful once, but her nose had obviously been broken more than once and a rough scar travelled down the left side of her face. The eyes were a bright, captivating green, framed with dark lashes, her dark brown hair was cut at her earlobes and her expression was hard as she regarded Aya..

"Are you all watchmen?" she asked, interested. One of the men – Eli? – laughed. Finn smiled crookedly.

"Mia is" - he indicated the second woman, a fine-boned Yamani who bowed slightly - "and that's her partner, Ross." The man in question kept his bright red hair cut close to hide the fact that it was receeded, and his eyes were so blue they seemed unnatural. "The rest are... friends. I know many from work."

"You could have just said 'thieves'," she pointed out, having never learned tact, "I won't panic over that, you know."

Calden laughed.

"I like your friend, Finn," he complimented, winking at Aya whose heart thudded. He really was attractive. "She's sharp."

"And a noble." Corine's eyes were cold as ice. "You down here to see how the other half lives, girly?"

"Play nice, Corr. I know her father – she's a friend." Finn bent down to kiss 'Corr's' cheek. She batted him away fondly, but hardened again when she looked at Aya.

"A friend who's smarter than she should be," she pointed out, folding her arms. "For your information, girl, what my friends and I do isn't necessarily legal. You going to tell your father and have us all before my Lord Provost?"

_As if I'd tell you if I was, _she thought irritably but for once was able to hold her tongue. She didn't want to cross this woman.

"My da's a healer," she responded with a shrug. "I doubt he'd care much. Besides, I'd get in trouble if anyone knew I'd left the palace."

"Aya's a page," Finn explained, gesturing her to sit. "She got herself beaten up by one of her year mates and I'm showing her how to beat a stronger opponent."

"I believe I know your mother, the lady Yukimi," Mia said softly, meeting her eye. Aya wasn't surprised – there were few enough Yamani women in the capital for her mother to take an interest in those who were. Many received invitations to dine in their town house so her mother could speak her own language and indulge in her own culture with somebody who wasn't serving her.

Aya bowed to the woman politely. Her accent was slight – perhaps she'd come to Tortall as a child?

"I'd be happy to remember you to her," she offered. Mia didn't smile – Yamanis didn't, generally – but her eyes crinkled slightly.

"I would appreciate it," she responded. "She took my mother and I under her wing when we were new to this country."

The conversation shifted, turning to gossip about the Lower City. Aya was silent as she listened with interest about a beautiful dancer seen leaving the Magistrate's house, the new leader of the Moon Temple's guards – a ferocious, older woman who even Corine referred to with grudging respect – and a series of fires about the poorest area of the Lower City, called the Cesspool. Jem – a wiry forger – spat in the fire angrily at that.

"Scum," he murmurred viciously, "arsonists attacking them as have nothing."

"We'll get them, Jem," Ross assured him tiredly. "Old Sam's taking this personally. He's declaring war on whoever's doing this."

"Their watch segeant," Robbie explained to Aya. "He grew up in the Cesspool."

"The mumpers' heads will roll soon enough," Ross finished.

"One way or another," Corine's eyes were hard. "My cousin's man burned alive in his mother's house thanks to those-"

"Language please, Corr," Finn's eyes were sad though his tone was jocular. "We've a lady among us."

Corine's sharp eyes turned to Ayami.

"It's an ugly life for most," she said bluntly. "Oh things are better than they used to be. We've schools and hospitals and all, but where are the young to go once they've learned their letters? You try learning to read and getting ideas in your head only to go off and do grunt work or labour." She smiled thinly. "Many turn to crime."

"It's not her fault, Corr," Calden reminded her gently, resting a hand on the woman's arm. Aya wondered if the two were lovers. "I bet she has enough to worry about, being a girl training as a knight. Besides, not all nobles are so bad. I met Lady Knight Keladry not two years ago, remember? She was the one that trained our Lalasa how to defend herself from them as wouldn't take 'no' as an answer."

Corine considered this, face still hard. At last she sighed.

"My apologies, girl," she said ruefully, taking a swig of wine. "It's this arsonist – I've been on edge for days now. He'll be caught though, and he'll pay – I guarantee it." Her grin was wolfish, deadly.

Aya frowned. It was clear to her that this woman was no ordinary thief, but just what was remarkable about her remained a mystery.

"I believe you," she said, serious. "Though whatever you do, I'm sure he'll deserve worse."

Corine looked grudgingly impressed at the young noble's attitude. Cal elbowed her playfully.

"What did you expect?" he asked with a grin. "The girl's training to be a knight – it wouldn't do for her to be soft."

"And she sneaks out in the middle of the night to consort with rogues and become stronger," added the Carthaki, Eli with a grin. "This is a tough youngling – it's a shame she's a noble."

"My da says the same thing," she responded meekly, drawing a laugh from those about her. "He says I'd be better mucking stables all day until I can converse like a delicate noble-woman."

Corine smiled crookedly.

"I think any rich young lady who wants to become a knight must have been dropped on her head as a child," she commented drily, "but I suppose you're working for your keep, at least. It's more than I can say of most nobles."

"That's the most praise you'll get from her," Finn nudged her with a smile. "If you're lucky, she'll tell you about the time she stole a knight's shoes off his feet, just to say she'd done it."

Eyes wide, Aya stared at Corine who scowled at Finn.

"You never," she accused, awed.

"Bag had it coming," she sniffed. "I was younger than you at the time, else I'd have left a mark for good measure. He was about to kick some boy who'd crashed into him, so I just dove in. Sold the shoes for ten gold nobles - they paid for the first decent meal my ma had in a year."

"Who was it?" Aya hugged her arms around her knees. Having grown up among her Aunt Kel, she depised nobles who mistreated commoners. "Do you know?"

"Quinden of Marti's Hill," Cal responded for her, rolling his beautiful eyes. "And as if she'd forgotten I was the boy he was trying to kick."

Marti's Hill. She could have laughed, and would have if her Yamani upbringing hadn't kicked in. Her anger and humiliation at having been beaten up by Josaline was somewhat alleviated by the thought of her father's shoes being stolen by a small, rough-faced common girl.

"Anyway, that's a boring story," Eli's eyes glittered. "What you really want to hear about is the time she posed as a Tusaine noblewoman..."

For the next hour, she listened, wide eyed, to various examples of the most brazen acts of theft, forgery and impersonation as the watchmen in the group politely pretended not to hear, all the while cherishing her quiet knowledge of Josaline's father.

* * *

"The Immortal's War is still one of the most important events in Tortall's living memory," their teacher in Law and History of the realm – Katlin, a small, plump woman with a mess of white hair and a stern expression – stared about the room one January morning. Their discussion of the war and its consequences for the realm had been one of the highlights of Aya's day, being narrowly displaced by successfully throwing Leon of Nicoline in wrestling that morning. She liked Katlin, who listened to her viewpoints without patronising her based on her age. Nealan of Queenscove had ensured all of his children received an excellent education and it was nice to be able to demonstrate this in her lessons. "We've covered the more basic points in the lesson today – times, dates, names... But the real significance of these events lies in the impact they had on the realm. So for Monday, I want you to get into groups. Each group will be assigned an aspect of Tortallan life – you will discuss how this aspect of life was altered by the emergence of the Immortals and the Immortals War."

Pages shifted in their seats – many chose to study together, but they were never assigned group work. Aya sighed to herself – she usually used the bell after supper to jog to the stables and back, practice unarmed combat and go over sword work in her room. Often, Lora would sit and sew as she worked and the two would talk about palace gossip, whatever young man Lora was currently involved with or Aya's training – it was her favourite part of the day, but she knew that any group would probably want to use that hour to study.

"Arrange yourselves into groups of five and use tonight to write an essay on and prepare a presentation on the aspect assigned to you."

Aya made eye contact with Sofiya who smiled invitingly. Walking to her sponsor, she waited to see who would join them. Edmond of Golden Lake was obvious – he and Sofiya were best friends, for all their fighting. Liam of Nond – a tanned, stocky first year whose sense of humour was as sharp as Aya's own – meandered over to their group with a smile.

"Josie," Edmond grinned, beckoning the other girl to their group. Aya flattened a scowl. Since their fight and Josie's startling apology, the girls had avoided each other. She didn't want to work with the other girl now. There was no help for it – all of the pages had formed their own groups and Josie was on the outside. The sharp-tongued, short-tempered girl had few friends, but for whatever reason Edmond was attached to her. "Liam's useless at history and Sofiya's handwriting could make the most hardened Mithran weep – come join us."

Rolling her eyes, Sofiya elbowed her friend in the ribs.

"I should have stayed in the desert where men know how to treat a lady," she sniffed derisively, "this uncouth savage insults me."

"And he told me that a knight who uses an axe might as well paint a target on their back," Liam pointed out, wanting revenge on the page's comments.

Aya giggled as Sofiya turned on her friend with a sharply raised eyebrow.

"I'm not doing any presenting," Josaline's face was red, she avoided looking at Aya. "I'll write the essay."

"Have Ayami help," Sofiya suggested, eyes unreadable. "She is the best at that and if she presents she will just end up getting into a debate with herself."

"Which would be more interesting to listen to," Aya pointed out, trying not to plead. Sofiya was her sponsor and a third year and an order was an order, but she could think of few things she wanted to do less than work with the irritable Josaline.

"I can write it by myself," Josline argued.

"Then there would be four of us on the presentation, so not everybody would be doing their share," Edmond pointed out. Aya could have killed him. "Firsties on the essay, us older ones will do the talking." He finished.

"Liam's a first year," Aya pointed out. She liked the good-humoured boy and would enjoy the essay considerably more if he were there to mediate between her and Josie.

"You want my help?" Liam's eyebrows lifted. "You told me last week that I describe history as though everything were done by exceptionally dull corpses."

"And you told me that the day I can dance a gavotte without killing everyone in the room will be the day I marry Prince Ruto of the Copper Isles," Aya reminded him.

"And if we were asked to do a group dance project, I'd run from you with all my strength," Liam assured her. "I think I'd best be bossed about by the olduns here, Aya."

Turning to Josie, she scowled.

"Your spelling had better be better than your sword play," she said shortly.

"You'll make a fine desk knight some day," Josie responded coolly. The group collected their assignment – warfare – from Katlin.

"When shall we work?" Sofiya asked as they filed out of the classroom. "We could go to the pages' library after supper, perhaps?"

Liam shook his head.

"No good," he said mournfully. "Alas, I remain unable to mend my childish ways and find myself banned from the library until my Lord decrees otherwise. In punishment for my heathen ways, I find myself toiling in the armoury for the first bell after supper."

"He enchanted the philosophy books in the library to scream 'run away while you still can' when opened," Aya explained with a scowl. Turning to the boy, she rolled her eyes playfully, "you might have targeted deportment."

Edmond chuckled slightly.

"Well, if not the library, then where?" he asked.

"Does anyone have a servant?" Sofiya asked. "I would like snacks while working."

"I've a maid," Aya volunteered. "Well, at least, that's what I pay her for. I don't think she knows that."

Edmond's grin widened.

"The charming Lora?" he asked, interest sparking behind those level brown eyes. At the age of fourteen, Edmond's interest in pretty girls had begun to peak and he'd been smitten with Lora since borrowing a book from Aya's room in their first week.

"The very same," Aya grinned mischievously. "Careful though - she'll break your young page's heart. She finds it easier than doing her job."

"Since the job is waiting on you, I don't blame her," Josaline sneered. Aya breathed deeply, willing herself to be as stone while opening her mouth to respond.

"If you two could go ten minutes without killing one another, we would all be grateful," Sofiya pointed out reasonably. "At least until the essay is written."

"Mistress Katlin doesn't accept death as an excuse," Liam agreed with a dramatic sigh. "Believe me, I've tried that one."

"I thought you were looking a bit pale," Edmond commented cheerily, slinging an arm around the smaller boy. Liam was tall for a boy of eleven but the big Edmond still dwarfed him. "Come on children," he continued, "we've another dancing session to attend and I want to find a spot as far from Ayami as possible."

"Ruffians!" Aya sighed dramatically. "You've no notion of how to treat a lady."

Josaline looked as though she were about to say something, took a deep breath and stormed down the corridor ahead of them.

The group stared after her, a mixture of shock and amusement on each face. After a moment, Liam and Edmond followed, shaking their heads. Only Aya and Sofiya remained.

"Has anybody else noticed how mad she is?" Aya addressed the elephant in the room. Sofiya laughed gently.

"I am afraid you are altogether too female for our friend," she pointed out. "She thinks you should cut your hair, for one."

Aya fingered her long braid. When she'd told her father she wanted to try for her shield, he'd had an intensive argument with himself before concluding that she could, on the conditions that she continued to use her brain on a regular basis and left her hair alone.

"My father would kill me," she pointed out wryly. It had occurred to her previously that the other two female pages bore brutally short hair cuts, but her tight braid had always kept her hair from her face.

"You are caught between a healer and a hard place," the Bazhir summarised, eyes sparkling. "It is not a position I envy."

"I was born under a lucky constellation," she responded gloomily.

* * *

Thinking about Josaline and her sneering voice spurred Aya's after-supper exercises that day. 20 push ups, a jog three times around the practice courts (while she may have been the weakest of the pages, running came easily to her. Her Aunt Kel once told her that there was horse blood in the Queenscove line, causing her father to throw a book at the lady knight's head.) and two complex pattern dances were performed as she considered the lightness of her gear. The senior pages all practiced with weighted harnesses - might she do the same to build up muscle? The strengthening exercises were helpful, but she dreaded the idea of falling behind when the time came to don the harness. About ten minutes before the second bell chimed, she finished the second pattern dance with a flourish.

"You're getting better at that," Lora remarked, looking up from her sewing. "You're actually serious about the hand-to-hand combat thing, aren't you?"

"I've been told there's madness in my family," Aya agreed. Lora grinned. She liked her mistress's sense of humour.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know, miss," was the supposedly timid response. Aya rolled her eyes.

"By the way, my study group is meeting in here after the next bell," she told her maid. "I'm afraid this means you'll have to do some actual work."

"I listen to your conversation every day, don't I?" was the tart response, but she was already stowing her work and getting to her feet. "I'll bring some drinks and snacks from the kitchens.

As the bell chimed, the maid slipped from the room and a heavy, persistent knocking sounded at the door. Aya rolled her eyes. Josaline would be dead on time of course, and that knock was very distinctive, as though the person in the room wouldn't hear unless the visitor bloodied their knuckles.

"Alright, there's no need to dent my door," she snapped as she admitted the other page. Some way down the corridor, Sofiya and Edmond followed, embroiled in debate.

"Any sign of that delinquent Nond boy?" Aya asked of them. They looked a little startled by her presence as she interrupted their argument.

"He's probably off setting some wire-trap for the Tyran ambassador," Edmond rolled his eyes.

"If he fails to start a war before his page training ends, I fear his grandmother would disown him," Sofiya agreed mournfully.

"No need," Edmond grinned, slinging his arms around Aya and Josie. "I think our ladies here will burn down the pages wing by the time they become squires."

"Only if Aya attempts to use her Gift again," Josaline pointed out coldly. "Which I don't see happening."

Aya was opening her mouth to snap back a retort when a rap sounded on her door. At the threshold, Liam looked altogether too pleased with himself as he dragged along a visitor.

Aya's eyes lit up - following the irascible page with a consigned look on her face was Keladry of Mindelan.

"Aunt Kel!" Her eyes danced. She burst with questions for the older woman; how long had she been back? Was Dom - Aya's cousin and Kel's not-particularly-secret lover - with her? Were the Scanran raiders she'd been sent to fight suitable cowed? Questions which would have to wait; she had company.

"You have very persistent friends, Aya," Kel informed her, amused.

"I'm not his friend, I'm his keeper," the Yamani girl responded with a slight sniff.

"I saw the Lady Keladry in the armoury," the boy explained with a grin. "I thought she might want to help with the project."

"Have you two even met?" Edmond rubbed his eyes wearily. Liam didn't often care about whether or not he technically 'knew' a person if he wanted to rope them into something.

"I saw her tilt against Lord Wyldon two years ago," was the calm response.

"Edmond of Golden Lake," Kel smiled at the third year. "You get bigger every time I see you."

"So my mother says, my lady," he bowed, "and I see her every day."

Kel laughed.

"Send your father my regards," she requested, "I missed him over midwinter.

"Of course."

She regarded the other pages.

"Sofiya Ahn Ajah," she addressed the Bazhir girl, "I believe I know your father as well."

"It was after seeing you in a tournament that he allowed me to try for my shield, my lady." Sofiya hid her delight behind serene eyes, but Aya could see how overjoyed she was to be talking to her idol.

"And that's Josie," Liam pointed to a star struck Josaline. "Josaline of Marti's Hill."

For a moment, Aya thought she saw a hint of a frown on Kel's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

"Three female pages in one study group," Kel shook her head, looking pleased. "Are there any others?"

"No, but Lianne - Lianokami - told me she'll be trying for her shield too," Aya informed her. "She's starting next year."

"Nond here was very vague about what he wanted," Kel told them, sitting down. The door opened to reveal Lora carrying a tray bearing a jug of juice, six cups and a dish of pastries. Seeing Kel, she fumbled a one-handed curtsy as Sofiya stood quickly to relieve her of her burden.

"Our project is on how warfare changed because of the immortals," Josaline found her voice at last and addressed the lady knight.

Kel frowned thoughtfully.

"Well, I suppose you'll want to start with changes to knight's training. Before the immortals came, there was a cry to do away with the lance..."

The pages gathered around to listen as Kel explained the various changes the immortals made to fighting in Tortall. She had such a way of explaining things like strategy and supply issues that even Liam - who was a genius at mathematics but terrible at history - found it difficult to instantly forget everything he was told. Even Aya - who was familiar already with much of Kel's lecture - learned that tournaments were once again considered vital activities where they had once been seen as archaic, and that the rise of the immortals had made it far more possible for women to train as warriors as the kingdom found itself in need of anyone who could bare arms. _She should be the one to teach us,_ Aya thought, mesmerised by how real the woman made history sound. _Everyone can see that Lord Gilmyn hates teaching us pages - he'd much rather bury himself in some scroll - we should have someone who _enjoys _it._

When Aya and Josaline set about writing the essay, with Kel helping the pages who were to present, it was almost a good ten minutes before the girls remembered to fight and glare at one another.


	5. Brawl

**Brawl**

By February, Aya's routine was fixed. Her morning exercises grew easier week by week as she began to don a weighted harness for her private exercises. She knew her swordwork was the best of the first year pages, her archery was improving daily and even her unnarmed combat was showing definite improvement. While a steady dislike persisted between Aya and Josaline, the sallow girl no longer scowled whenever Aya was addressed and a small, ludicrous part of her psyche was inexplicably pleased with this development. As ever, she was far ahead of her yearmates in academic work – occassionally she wondered if noble families even bothered teaching their children to read and write. Only one thing could blight her status as one of the best squires-in-training and it was announced by Lord Gilmyn one brisk morning as the pages filed into the practise courts.

"You've had it easy so far," the grim-faced knight informed the group stiffly. "Usually, first year pages train with weapons on horseback by midwinter, but this year I changed things. Those of you who can ride a horse without doing yourselves and others inuries would be better giving your weapons to your opponents and saving yourselves the trouble."

Aya – whose horsemanship was still poor, for all she had convinced Merrylegs to work with her – and Josaline – who was still slow and awkward with her sword as ever – were emabarrassed, though Aya at least managed to keep her face Yamani-still.

"Still," the training master continued with his trademark scowl, "using a weapon from horseback is one of the most important skills a knight must master. First and second years will start with sword-work, third and fourth years may train with axes or bows."

Individually, the first years were sent to practice simple blocks, thrusts and lunges while the second, third and fourth years paired up for mounted practice bouts.

Merrylegs, though willing to bear Aya and take her commands, was less than pleased when the page dropped her sword onto the mount's head. Rearing, she nearly threw her small rider, who clung onto the horse desperately. As she settled, shaken, Aya dismounted to retrieve her sword and soothe the poor beast. A lump of sugar and murmurred apologies saw Merrylegs blow with exasperation and allow the girl back onto her back. The look she gave Aya's sword was plain as speech; 'do that again and I'll break a toe for your pains'.

For once, the other pages didn't laugh at an embarrassing mistake – everyone was too busy trying to keep hold of their own weapons. A glance at Josaline told Aya that the other girl was even worse with a sword on horseback. She hadn't thought it possible. In their first free bout, Josaline had lasted less than half a minute against her opponent – the unflappable Joshua of Irenroha – before tripping over her own feet. Josh had barely needed to lift his sword. On horseback... As much as Aya enjoyed seeing Josaline humiliate herself, she had to look away. How could someone with such a feel for tilting, archery and wrestling be so awkward with a sword?

Instead, making sure that Lord Gilmyn was busy correcting his son's – Jonathan of Naxen – hold on his axe, Aya studied the other pages. Edmond, an excellent horseman and the strongest of the pages, was faring well against his partner, Seanus of Disart. Yarin of HaMinch was a good swordsman, but as he cut and thrust with his sword, he forgot about his horse who was beginning to panic. As the gelding reared, tossing his rider, Aya winced, moving on. Scanning around, she froze.

Sofiya was the best rider of the pages. Her father, a Bazhir chieftain, had ensured his third daughter was able to ride as well as any Bazhir man before allowing her to try for her shield, and against her northern counterparts had a relationship with her mount which would have put a horsemage to shame. Axe in hand, she and horse worked in a beautiful harmony, making her foe – a stocky, muscled third year – look like a green first year. Staring in awe, she forgot her own practice and was not alone. Many of the first years ceased their practice to stare in awe at the graceful Bazhir.

Behind the hapless Liam's ear, a loud throat cleared.

Sergeant Alonus grinned broadly at the first-years.

"You'll never be that good if you ogle all the time instead of working," the sergeant-at-arms pointed out mildly. Instantly, there was a flurry of activity as every first year sprung back to work.

* * *

Some time later, as she curried her horse, still shaking her head in awe at Sofiya's effortless skill, Aya froze at the clear, cold voice she heard from another stall.

"I thought those sand-scuts kept their women behind veils anyway," the speaker was the third-year Sofiya had been practicing against. Aya strained her memory but couldn't remember his name.

"I still can't believe we're allowing them to train as knights," another - Yarin of HaMinch - grumbled. Aya wasn't sure whether he meant women or the Bazhir – either way, her blood ran cold. "It's not like they've real nobles – just tribesmen."

"At least she's good." A third pointed out fairly. "Not like that Marti's Hill – did you see her try to keep on her horse?"

"Three girls in one year," the first speaker – Aya wished she knew his name – pointed out, disgusted. "And two of them foreigners." _My father's Tortallan_, she wanted to scream. _And the Bazhir _are _Tortallan – have you forgotten everything we've done in history. _"One at a time wasn't so bad, but now they just fight over us, or who's prettier, or whatever."

"Ayami's a decent sort," this was the third voice, timid and soft. _My hero_, Aya thought scathingly. "I mean, she's good at archery and stuff."

"Did you see her fall off her horse," Yarin's voice cracked into a slight giggle. Fury bubbled within her – Yarin of HaMinch had fallen spectacularly from his gelding not ten minutes ago. "And she's so scrawny! I mean, Lady Keladry's strong enough, but she's rare – how can the girls think they can keep up with us?"

Thinking about Josie's wrestling, Aya took several deep breaths. Pointing out that one girl was excellent at wrestling, another at swordplay and that the skill of one girl did not reflect the skill of all girls was what she knew as logic. She wasn't sure these idiots had heard of the term.

"At least she isn't as mad as that Marti's Hill girl," the first voice was laced with scorn. "Our fathers are friends – I'm surprised old Quinden let his daughter even try. He knows a woman's place."

"He probably knew she'd never get a husband," Yarin laughed. "Maybe she'd get a husband – even if she does look like a fish – but with a tongue that sharp, no man would put up with it."

That was enough. Aya disliked – even hated – Josaline, but she had good reasons to do so. The other girl was bad tempered and irrational and judgemental, which she considered to be a good basis for disliking a person. These... these _males_ were presuming to dislike _her _enemy based on something so petty as looks and a sharp tongue? She'd need a weapon against the three of them, but all she had to hand was her wooden practice sword. Sighing – she knew she was in for a bloody fight – she stepped out of her stall and met the three speakers.

It was probably a mistake. Yarin of HaMinch was only a second year, but he towered over the small Aya and had muscles like ropes. The third year – Dunleigh of Runnerspring, she remembered with a jolt – was almost twice her width with muscles dense from frequent practice. The third party – Hondan of Meron – at least had the grace to look away as Aya met each of their eyes – the other two looked simply amused.

"Aya," Hondan mumbled, embarrassed. "How... how are you?"

She considered for a moment. Her mother would smile politely and plot revenge behind a still face. Her father would insult the three and fight when one of them lost their temper and attacked. She found she would do neither parent proud.

"Actually, I'm angry," she told them with a pleasant smile. "It's a funny side-effect of being insulted."

Dunleigh laughed out loud.

"Well, I'm afraid," he told her mockingly. His voice was beginning to break and the odd pitches lessened the impact of his intimidating words. "We've upset the Yamani-whore."

It was the first time anyone had called her that. It wouldn't be the last, she was sure, but it was best to discourage that sort of thing.

"Yes," she replied calmly. "I'm pleased to see you're so quick on the uptake. Would you like to apologise now, or must I break a finger first?"

They were foolhardy words – she hadn't even been able to win against Josaline alone, never mind three second- and third-years – but they tumbled out without thought.

Yarin spat on the ground in front of her. She shrugged, sighing over the bruises she was about to collect, and struck.

She might have been weaker than the other pages, but she was also much faster, and the wooden blade of her practice sword smacked hard against Dunleigh's belly and the hilt against Yarin's nose before the other boys had even reacted. Howling, Dunleigh planted a messy punch on the side of her face – it wasn't nearly as painful as Josaline's had been months earlier. Yarin seized her braid, yanking her head back. She hissed in pain; he shrieked. The spiked strap she braided into her hair had been a midwinter gift from her aunt Kel. Suddenly, her air cut off as an arm – Honden's – wrapped about her neck. Two months ago, she would have panicked, especially as Dunleigh advanced upon her. Now she took a deep breath, remembering Finn's advice about being gripped by a stronger opponent. Rather than attempt to roll him off her, as the pages were trained, she took a step back into his arms, bracing her feet. Sure enough, her captor lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.

Dunleigh's punch landed squarely on her stomach, bringing up her breakfast. Recovering, she punched him twice in the face, shocked by how strong her punches felt. She heard a scuffle to her right and whipped round, expecting Yarin to advance. Instead, she gaped, shocked.

Josaline of Marti's Hill, it seemed, cared no more for Yarin's insults than Aya had, and was blocking Yarin's wild punch to deliver a powerful kick to his stomach. As Dunleigh leapt on his distracted opponent, an icy voice sounded from the entrance to the stables.

"It's always good to see pages practising what I teach them," Darus Esined's eyes were like ice as he regarded Dunleigh. "Though usually, I expect such demonstrations to take place between pages of an age. Two first years hardly seems like fitting practice for one second and two third years."

All five pages stood, Aya trembling as she felt her bruises.

"My Lord, Queenscove started-" Dunleigh's voice cut off as the tiny fighter held up a hand.

"I am nobody's 'lord', Dunleigh of Runnerspring," he told the page curtly. "And I asked for no explanations. You will all report immediately to Lord Gilmyn. If I may speak with page Ayami before she leaves?"

As the other walked silently from the stables, Aya approached her unnarmed combat master, heart thudding. Dunleigh had broken tradition by naming her, but she was the one who would be punished.

"Master Darus?" she asked, apprehensive. He regarded her for a moment.

"I liked that move," he told her. "When you walked backwards against Meron's hold – a clever move to throw off an opponent's balance. Where did you learn it?"

Gaping – why ask her about this? - she stuttered, "a friend – a watchman – in the Lower City," before she realised that pages weren't supposed to leave the palace without permission. If her instructor realised she'd been breaking more rules, he said nothing, instead drumming fingers against his chin thoughtfully.

"Sensible men, those watchmen. And women, of course," he added. "Your punches, too, looked stronger. You've been working to strengthen your arms?"

She nodded.

"Lady Keladry showed me some exercises," she explained, "and I train with a harness, sometimes."

He nodded.

"You're improving, page Ayami," he said simply. "Not that it would have been possible for you to get worse. The punches on the left side are sloppy and you need to keep a solid defence. If I ever see you getting distracted and gaping at a friend during a fight again, I will have my lord assign you punishment work to consume the rest of your page days."

Turning swiftly, he left her alone and gaping in the stables. She didn't even have time to point out that Josaline was far from a 'friend'.


End file.
